Let it Go, Shinjiyo
by Pixeh Pixeh Pixeh
Summary: Quatre... damaged. personally i view this as one of the more raw, beautiful stories i've written, but that's just the authors opinion. drug abuse, casual sex, mental, physical, sexual abuse. ch 2 coming soon R for adult content.


A/N: this is a Me fic, although it's not a M/S. Big thanks to Calli-chan, who helped me with this, and allowed me to explain my religion to her. ; D. A HUGE hello!!!! To all at AOW, sorry you've been neglected by me recently!!!  
  
Warning: this fic involves deep feelings, casual sex, and drug abuse. Don't read if you're shallow and fluffy.  
  
Disclaimer: blah blah, the usual.  
  
Let it Go.Shinjiyo.  
  
Quatre bit down on the pillow under him as the man above him screamed loudly and continued pumping. The sleek black digital clock said it had been forty minutes. Quatre sobbed inwardly but said nothing, just whimpered sexily when he thought it was appropriate. His back ached, as did his neck. Richard liked sex at odd angles.  
  
"I'm coming, oh baby I'm coming!" the male shouted unnecessarily. Quatre grimaced and waited. It only took a few moments before Richards's hair pulling, back beating (Quatre's back, and the bruises would show, afterwards) orgasm was over.  
  
Richard pulled out and Quatre whimpered inwardly; he could feel how bruised his opening was. But he knew it was worth it when Richard opened his arms and embraced the small blonde. This was what he craved, this was his drug, his elixir; simple affection.  
  
*  
  
Quatre woke up the next morning when the maid was bustling around the room. He turned the radio on and rested his chin on his folded arms. He was lying face down and he could feel his stomach, stretched out, tickled by the sheets.  
  
"Good morning master Quatre. Did you sleep well?"  
  
"As well as can be expected Bernice."  
  
"I see you're in Mr Richards bed again. Did you have another nightmare?" the maid didn't look at Quatre, but he knew her question was innocent enough.  
  
"Yes Bernice. Those nightmares are terrible. I just cannot be alone when they happen."  
  
"Well master Quatre, my ma had a good remedy for nightmares. I'll see if I can mix you up some. Come next week, it'll be mighty hard for you to go snuggling up with Mr Richard anymore!" she chuckled and plugged the vacuum in.  
  
"Why is that, Bernice?" Quatre asked vaguely, wondering if Bernice was in fact aware of the phenomenon of homosexuality, and knew that Mr Richard was getting a new toy-boy, however unlikely this scenario seemed in this universe.  
  
"Why, because his wife's coming home of course! She comes back from the hospital with her baby next week, and sure 'n all she'll be wanting her bed back!" she switched the vacuum on and began cleaning, which was just as well, Quatre wasn't sure what she would've made of the tears that tracked down his face and polluted the soft white satin pillows.  
  
*  
  
Quatre whipped open his napkin and spread it across his knees. He began jerkily applying gravy to his roast lamb, crying out in frustration when he spilt on the tablecloth.  
  
"Quatre.. Is something the matter?" Richard asked, irritated. He didn't like his dinner interrupted, or theatrical. This was getting damn close to both.  
  
"Leave." Quatre ordered the attendant at his side, and Richard nodded to the attendant at his. Both left the room and shut the doors.  
  
"What is it? What is it what is it?" Richard practically yelled, spittle shooting from between his lips at his blonde companion.  
  
"A wife?" Quatre hissed. Richard blanched. "A wife and a child, no less! What the hell is the matter with you? What the fuck do you think you're doing? Did you not think I'd find out, eventually? Or did you think maybe Margaret would fancy a threesome with your sixteen year old lover?" Quatre was screaming now, standing up and leaning forward, fists clenching around the table edge.  
  
"I think you should leave." Richard said in an even, quiet tone. His eyes however, were on the door, now slightly ajar.  
  
"I'm already gone." Quatre spat, throwing his napkin down and sweeping all his cutlery and silverware off the table in one arm movement.  
  
He stormed out of the door, flinging it open to reveal the two attendants, leaning forward, ears to the door, eyes wide. He ran up the stairs, stomping heavily on each one, wishing the floorboards would crack beneath him. When he got to his room he was almost blind with rage. He flew from closet to closet, packing his clothes, the expensive suits Richard had bought him, the jewellery, watches, chains, throwing all of it piece-meal into a four piece luggage set, another present, bought for a holiday in Spain. The picture frames and photo's he'd cheerfully placed on the dresser only a few months before were thrown unceremoniously into the suitcase, the glass in one of the frames tinkling like chimes as it smashed apart. Tears clouded his eyes and swept in torrents down his face as he smashed it shut, ripping the zip around and shoving in a shirt tail one awry. He pulled the suitcase off the bed and put the shoulder bag strap across his chest. He picked up the last two hold-all's and began furiously making his way towards his bedroom door. When he opened it Richard was leaning on the doorframe, a worried look on his face.  
  
"Listen, Quatre. You wont... Say anything, will-" but Quatre slammed one of the hold-all's into his stomach, winding him.  
  
"Don't worry," he screamed hatefully as he clumped down the sweeping staircase towards the door. "I won't tell anyone that you're a disgusting cheating gay paedophile. It'll be our little secret. I'll take it to my fucking grave you bastard!"  
  
Quatre flung open the heavy front door so that it rumbled a marble column, knocking into the wall and causing a cherub statue to break dully against the polished floor. He didn't even bother shutting it, he just dumped his bags on the gravel driveway and walked towards the garage. Entering the large, cool room, he picked up the newest set of keys and used them to beep open a shiny black Mercedes' convertible. Richard wouldn't report the loss of the car; his reputation couldn't be replaced, whereas the latest model sportster, could.  
  
Quatre didn't look back as he drove off the property; all his possessions bundled into the back seat. He knew Richard wouldn't be at the window. Things like that probably only happened in films. Richard was probably now back at the breakfast table, cheerfully informing the maid that his little "nephew" the business protégé had decided to go back home, after all.  
  
*  
  
The hotel lobby was cool and airy. It wasn't one of those buildings that tried to be cool and modern and minimalist. Comfort and class were all that mattered, as long as it wasn't shabby comfort, or low-class. Quatre used the credit card to pay for a week's board. He wasn't sure when Richard would cut it off, but he didn't want to be caught short. When the bellboy had delivered everything to his suite and he was settled in he went shopping, coming back with two pairs of shoes, a winter coat, some scarves and a plain white envelope.  
  
Then, he did what he had been putting off for hours. He picked up the phone and called an old friend.  
  
The voice on the other end was cool and impersonal, and female. "Hello, Maxwell House of Eveningwear, how may I help you?"  
  
Quatre faltered. He'd written to Duo a few months ago, and Duo had written back, saying he'd got a new job, and if Quatre ever wanted to drop him a line to just call him at work. Quatre had assumed that it was the number to a mechanics garage. Maxwell House of Eveningwear? What the hell?!  
  
"Um I'd like to speak to Duo Maxwell, if you'd be so kind."  
  
The woman's voice took on a slightly colder tone. "MR Maxwell is not in his office right now, if you'd like to leave a-"  
  
"Please, please check his office. And if he is by any chance there, tell me? If he's not, a message saying that Quatre Raberba Winner would like to speak to him would be nice. Thank you." Quatre could hear the woman frown, and muzak filtered into his ear as she clicked off to dial Duo's office. Almost immediately the friendly Americans voice flooded the phone, and Quatre smiled in delight as Duo spluttered his greeting.  
  
"It's nice to talk to you too, Duo. Whats this whole Maxwell House thing, huh? When did that happen?"  
  
"It was kinda a surprise really. movie kind of story. I was working as a waiter to make some money for college and gave someone a napkin that I'd doodled a picture of a suit on. Well it turned out that this someone was looking for a new project to fund, and he thought that fashion was a great investment! So he spoke to some fashion people, put me through two months of training, and then set me up! It's so amazing Qat. there are all these people waiting on me, I have a Personal Assistant, I believe you spoke to her, so if she was rude, but I get a lot of calls from Ex-girlfriends who suddenly want to know me again. But yeah. wow Qat. you've got to come down and visit. It's funny; I've been talking to everyone in the old crowd recently. Heero is in high school taking college courses, Trowa is living with the circus, and Wufei lives with a foster family and goes to high school. Hilde got pregnant*, poor thing, and Relena is living with her brother. How're you? Whats going on with that person you said you were living with? When can you come down to New York? Wha-"  
  
"DUO! Stop! Stop a minute, ok!" Quatre laughed. "Slow down Duo, I'll still be here in ten minutes. You can breath between sentences. I'm actually in New York. I drove down from Ohio last night. I was actually wondering if we could meet up for lunch.. talk about old times and stuff. Doesn't seem that long ago it was the five of us, best of friends, going to school together and hanging out." Quatre sighed inaudibly. He missed his young way of life. He missed being a kid. He was only 16, by all rights; didn't he have another two years left?  
  
"Wow, ok. How's about tomorrow? Twelve o'clock at the South Elizabeth café? I gotta go now, but I'll see you there!" Quatre mumbled goodbye and hung up. Everything was moving fast, and he wasn't exactly sure he hated it.  
  
~  
  
*Sorry. I couldn't resist. : -D 


End file.
